Loyal Blood
by lordlottie111
Summary: In a fatal rage Arthur wounds Merlin with the Excalibur, which will slowly kill any warlock, even the almighty Emrys. He must make the ultimate sacrifice to keep his friend alive and travels into Morgana's snare to ensure Merlin's safety. Will he find the Loyal Lake in time? And how far is Arthur prepared to go? WARNING: Rated T for mild language and gore.


**A/N: Hey guys! Thanks so much for all the support you've been giving me, and this is the new Loyal-Blood! For those who saw the original, this is merely an improved version. Thank you for sticking with me through this, and I hope (and prayer) that this is much more improved than the last. This is set in my own period, when Uther is dead, but Morgana hasn't been found as a traitor just yet and Gwen has just been exiled for cheating on Arthur. Sorry if I've mingled the timeline horribly there! Reviews and liking this are of course, more than welcome. I always see reviews as advice, and advice only make my writing better. Without further ado… Here is Chapter 1!**

**Disclaimer: BBC own full rights to Merlin, I'm just playing with the characters a bit. **** One can dream I guess. Pls don't sue me.**

"Rise and shine!" Merlin called cheerfully, hauling the curtains open with early morning vigour. Arthur groaned from his bed at the sudden burst of sunlight, screwing his eyes shut stubbornly. Merlin yanked the covers off of Arthur's naked back, putting his hands on his hips, sighing in frustration. "Sire, it's today!" Merlin exclaimed. "You must get dressed."  
>"Dressed?" Arthur still cloaked with drowsiness, could only pull back his heavy eyelids.<p>

Merlin smirked cheekily, scooping up Arthur's abandoned clothes off the ground. "Yes sire, unless you want to go out naked, of course."

Arthur managed to prop himself up in the pillows, his finger pointing warningly at Merlin. "Merlin, remember what I said about you trying to be smart?" Arthur reminded with the folding of his arms.

"That it doesn't suit me?"

"Exactly," Arthur flexed his sleepy muscles with a groan, clambering out of bed. "Congratulations Merlin, you did one thing right. First and last."

Merlin raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn't respond. He chucked the clothes in the basket, looking back at Arthur expectantly.

"I trust rousing me at bed at _dawn_-"Arthur spat the word out as if it were poison- "Is important?"

"Yes sire."  
>"Well then?"<p>

"It is Christmas sire and-" 

"That's it?" Arthur snarled mockingly, automatically looking for something to throw at Merlin for his usual incompetence. Merlin, guessing Arthur's intentions waved his thin arms in front of him defensively.

"Let me finish!"  
>Arthur found a water jug, aiming at poor Merlin.<p>

"You must get ready for the royal hunt!" Merlin cried hurriedly, the jug poised in Arthur's raised hand. "It is at 9 o'clock sharp, we have 2 hours to get prepared."

Arthur dropped the jug not bothering where it landed, sighing in annoyance. He glanced back at Merlin, who still had his arms covered over his head. "Well then? Best not waste time."

Merlin's arms lowered suspiciously, and then saw the jug was safely on the bed. He was too familiar with Arthurs mood shifts by now, after all a morning Arthur isn't exactly a happy one. Merlin bowed his head quickly, gathering Arthur's vast variety of weapons and armour for use.

Everything was momentarily quiet as Merlin swiftly dressed Arthur in armour, the familiar clanging of steel the only noise in the room.  
>"Should I run you through your duties?" Merlin asked as he fitted the chest-plate, his eyes never wavering off the job.<p>

Arthur sighed tiredly, but was secretly pleased that Merlin remembered. He would've been walking round like a headless chicken without knowing his many duties for that day.

If Arthur really thought about it, Christmas was probably the worst celebration day. True, as a child Arthur adored Christmas. Only Nobles and Royals truly celebrated it, and Arthur always got a fantastic present. Thinking harder, he got Noble, his Thoroughbred bay stallion one Christmas. Arthur and his father always went to the forest at early dawn every Christmas, either training with weapons or just simply sitting and eating food. But those fond days were long gone. As king, Arthur was expected to deliver speeches, discuss positions at the Royal Court and renew peace-treaties with every region… The list was torturously endless, and Arthur found himself dreading it every year.

Arthur's usual routine consisted of training his Knights, hunting; deciding the fate of criminals, patrolling Camelot's borders, the rest of his time was spent wallowing in his chambers over Gwen.

Gwen had been his future, his light, and his fiancée. He loved her with no end, blindly offering her gifts, kisses and confessed his deepest worries for Camelot. Gwen, ever patient and ever compassionate, spoke the wisdom of her heart, pouring her advice, love and strength onto Arthur with all she could muster. Her twinkling brown eyes, curling black hair… Arthur's dead heart gave a grieving twist, and he found himself beside with rage at his own mind, blocking all thoughts of the treacherous woman who only deceived him for wealth, only wanting Lancelot, NOT him… Arthur didn't know what to think of Gwen anymore. Abandoning the serving girl was like dragging blades throughout his body, pain wracking him every night with no Gwen to soothe it. He told himself every second, every hour, every day that it was the right choice to make; the cheating woman didn't deserve Camelot as a home. But his mangled heart objected, sending mixed thoughts. Arthur then stopped using his heart to speak his mind, sealing it shut with stone walls.

The only person which was allowed entry through the steel doors was Merlin. He stuck by Arthur in the worst of his heartbreak, and offered advice and support with no conditions. The reason why Arthur didn't shut Merlin out as well was for one sole reason. He put up with him. The first few days of Gwen's exile were too painful and dragged on relentlessly, and those days were the worst of Arthur's life. His feelings were swallowed up and spat back up in an unending cycle, his moods terrible.

If anyone dared to come in, like a child throwing a tantrum, Arthur would bellow until the ceilings almost shook, throwing whatever was near at the person, regardless of rank. A tsunami of anger washed over Arthur repeatedly until everyone was terrified to go near the King. Messages were left on a scroll at the door, servants fleeing immediately from the doorway of Arthur's chamber. People walking through the corridors of Camelot stepped hastily away as the King, on a murderous prowl stalked past; shooting hateful glares at anyone who dared glance back.

Merlin however was different. The first time he walked in after the exile, Arthur chucked a plate at Merlin with such force; it shattered on the wall horribly near Merlin, who had the sense to dodge with a bowlful of sweet scented soup. Arthur remembered how calm Merlin looked, as if he didn't try to attack him, simply telling Arthur he'd come to give him his supper and to clean the chambers. He even added the causal joke of how bad the room smelt when Arthur remained in it for even a short period of time. And it was just what Arthur needed, someone not cowering in fear, but defiant, someone joking and smiling.

Arthur remembered how he remained stiff with surprise at his manservant, merely watching dumbly as Merlin set the food down, made Arthur's bed, and swept up the pieces of the plate before leaving without a word. Ever since, Arthur steadily became better, allowing Merlin in without throwing anything at him, unless of course he did something idiotic. Each time Merlin came in, he'd talk the way they'd always done, not a mention of Gwen. He cared for Arthur's needs as he always done, taking both physical and verbal abuse like Arthur had always done, Merlin making snide comments with a natural smirk. Soon, Arthur left his room, apologising to the Court for his absence and went on his duties as king as if nothing happened. Not like he'd ever admit to his cheeky manservant that he'd been the medicine of his brutality, the source of his cure if you will.

"If you must," Arthur said in a bored tone, feigning his light mood after the dark thoughts that haunted him.

Merlin fiddled with the greaves, going on in a robotic voice without the list, as if he learnt it off by heart.

"The Royal Hunt will start at 9 am sharp, and ends at 11:30. Your armour will be left on for the Re-signing of the Treaty of Baldor's men. That'll begin at 12:00pm at Centre Point and you'll be expected to give a short speech after to Baldor's people and at 14:30 you'll be out of there. Then at Camelot, 15:30pm the new Court positions will have been elected and all you have to do is read out the names. At 16:30pm, you must read a VERY long speech to the people of Camelot, reassuring them about how next year is going to be just as successful, new taxes, better future… blah, blah, blah. And finally at 20:00pm you'll be attending the feast." Merlin broke his droning tone, putting the final touches on Arthur's Camelot crested cloak.

Arthur gave out a defeated groan, rubbing his leather gloved hands across his face. "Great," Arthur muttered sarcastically under his breath. "Just great,"

-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-

The only highlights of Arthur's painfully long day was The Royal Hunt (Arthur killed 15 peasants, 4 rabbits and 1 deer, while Merlin lagged behind) being victorious in the challenge of the best poacher, not to mention he'd won this 3 times in a row. The treaty of Disarms with Baldor was terrible, time dragging out for Arthur as long as he thought possible. Merlin stood by his side loyally, stifling yawns barely as Arthur kept a grim smile plastered on his face the entire time. Baldor and Arthur were on 'neutral terms', meaning that as long as the treaty stood, Camelot and Bander would not raise up arms to each other unless one crossed on the other's land. This agreement was clearly very frosty, and paranoia was inevitable. Thus the reason why 100 men stood poised at both Baldor and Arthur's side, bristled and ready for any possible threat. Centre Point was the best location for situations like this, the central piece of land between all of the kingdoms. In this way, the two Kingdoms would feel much at ease knowing that their precious land was safe from the potential enemy.

Arthur's smile became much more genuine when the event finally closed to an end, Arthur gladly retreated on Noble. But his spirits sank low with dread at the thought of being subjected to another torture as Arthur clambered off of his exhausted stallion, shuffling slowly into his Kingdom hoping that maybe if he put if off long enough, that perhaps the whole thing would be called off.

But no such miracle came, and Arthur trailed into the throne room with Merlin. Silently, the two stood side by side, enduring every event that came their way. Time tricked on, until finally 7:00 o'clock came, giving an hour of free time before the feast meant 'bath time' and 'dressing'. It had to be the official worst day of Arthur's life. But a steaming hot bath to soothe the tense muscles would never go amiss.

Merlin went on about the task of finding water, leaving Arthur to twiddle his thumbs for twenty minutes or so. That was never good. Being alone with nothing productive to do meant thinking, thinking meant Gwen, and Gwen meant… utter and complete heartbreak. Arthur tried swallowing his pain away, and meandered aimlessly to the window. Outside were excited commoners, buzzing with the Christmas busyness. They were very happy with Arthur's decision to elect Samuel Browns, the honourable man which somehow always seemed to get Arthur out of the stickiest situations. Arthur's speech was lively and enthusiastic enough for people to roar and cheer towards the end, leaving Arthur with a sore throat and exhaustion. It had been a long day, with still the feast to go.

Two fingers brushed against Arthur's shoulder at that moment, prying him from his thoughts. There was no way Merlin would be cheeky enough to try to surprise Arthur and certainly impossible for the tardy servant to be back within 10 minutes. Arthur supressed a flinch and spun around to see Morgana leaning near him.

Her usual flowing dark hair was pinned elegantly into a messy bun, her pale creamy skin barely exposed with the full length silk green dress she was wearing. The vivid green of it brought out the emerald of her eyes, which currently held a childish glint. Her coated eyelashes blinked innocently, plush crimson lips parted. She was stunning and Arthur never felt the jolt of heat men should feel when near beautiful woman, never felt the urge to impress her. Instead he scowled, pushing her away.

"What the hell are you doing here Morgana?" Arthur exclaimed angrily, glaring automatically at his alleged ward. He thought of Morgana always as his sister and hated the truth and formalities 'My Ward' brought. Morgana stepped back, putting her hands up.

"Nice to see you to dear brother," She said sarcastically. "You're always so grumpy when I come."

Arthur blew loudly through his flared nostrils, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "It's Christmas, do you expect the happy me when I've spent all day given speeches?" Arthur asked after the exhale of frustration.

"Granted," Morgana said stiffly, as if Arthur was the one which just burst through her doors. "Don't worry this isn't a social visit"- Arthur let out a sigh of relief. Morgana's 'social visits' were often her pouting about something absurd, or throwing a tantrum over Arthur not doing something or other.

-"I've merely came to give you something."

Arthur raised his eyebrows curiously. "Give me something? Why?"

Morgana rolled her eyes. "It's Christmas Arthur, I imagined that's the time of the year we all give gifts."  
>Arthur blinked, suddenly remembering there was a purpose for Christmas, pass giving speeches and signing treaties. "Oh, right." He felt a bit guilty, suddenly realising he'd forgotten Morgana's gift completely. But one couldn't blame him with the burden of being king at Christmas.<p>

Morgana placed something cool in the palm of Arthur's hand, watching as he observed it. It was a smooth gold ring to the naked eye, plain but well crafted. Arthur was never a fan of jewellery, but slipped the ring on his forefinger under Morgana's insistent gaze.

"Where'd you get it from?" Arthur asked, tracing the smooth pattern of the ring idly.  
>"The royal jeweller," Morgana said shortly, turning for the door.<br>"Wait!"

Morgana stopped, hovering at the exit.

"Thanks, it really is nice." It was the best Arthur could say; as he saw no help it could be in any situation. "I've got your present; I'll give it to you at the feast." Arthur lied. Oh well, he'd get Merlin to fetch something. He was an expert on girlish things, after all.

Morgana nodded curtly, shutting the door behind her. What Arthur didn't see was the sinister smirk that couldn't contain itself any longer on Morgana's face.

Merlin's least favourite job was carrying the water. The boiling water was hard to get anyway, given that he'd have to negotiate with Susan, the head chef for. It wasn't like Susan was horrible or disgusting in anyway. The Chef was almost like a grandmother to him than anything else. Her wispy grey hair was always neatly tucked into a bun, her puckered cheeks telling a story of long life. When she smiled, the wrinkles around her mouth stretched like wire, her ocean blue eyes wise and gentle.

And like a grandmother, he constantly was force fed by the insistent chef. She took in his bony, frail structure, the impossible lack of muscle, the sallow complexion and the bags cutting under his tired eyes... the next thing Merlin knew he was ushered onto a chair while Susan stuffed his mouth with a delicious, fatty food that Merlin couldn't identify. This time was no exception.

He bolted into the kitchen in a typical Merlin way, his raven hair wind-tousled, sticking up at every possible angle. His face wasn't angular, but bony to the point of painful. His dark blue eyes latched onto the basin of steaming water, trying to quickly lunge at it without Susan noticing. At the moment she was focused on a stew that went wrong, probing the gloopy mixture hesitantly with a spoon. No one in the kitchen questioned Merlin taking the water, everyone in the kitchen whether servant or chef knew him by heart. His job at collecting Arthur's food three times a day never went amiss and the weekly bath was no exception. Some even smiled at Merlin fondly, used to the gangly boy stumbling and pushing through the busy kitchen to get the water. Others yelled at Merlin for his clumsiness, sniggering when he somehow managed to drop the basin occasionally.

Merlin took the basin by the two handles, trying to ignore the near instant dropping at its weight. Already his arms throbbed and he hadn't even left the kitchen. Merlin smiled, thinking he'd made his thankful escape when needle thin fingers gripped his shoulder vice like. "You're a cheeky boy, trying to get away from my food." Susan clicked her tongue impatiently, guiding him back to the dreaded chair.

"It's the feast tonight Susan, I need to prepare the king!" Merlin protested weakly, knowing it would do no good.

"I'm positive ensuring your health is more important, we can't have you fainting from hunger while preparing Arthur, now can we?" Susan placed the basin back down on the table, her hardy nature defeating old age without difficulty.

She knew Arthur personally now after complaining to him boldly about Merlin's malnourishment frequently over the months. Merlin remembered how embarrassing it was with Arthur asking if he'd had breakfast this morning, or simply tossing him a chunk of bread when he looked too ragged. Arthur was one of those people who thought so long as you can keep doing your job, you don't need any food or rest. He was also one of those people which despised showing outward affection, so it wasn't any better for Arthur than it was for Merlin. But upon Susan's piling reminding and Merlin's sagging form, Arthur found it routine to throw some leftover bread or even some overcooked meat for Merlin randomly throughout his chores, as you would a dog when you saw it do a trick well. But Merlin rarely ate it, giving it constantly to poor servants or starving children on the streets.

Arthur actually caught him giving a child the apple he'd chucked that morning for him and the piece of stale bread he'd left on his plate a couple of days ago. On a free hour Arthur would stroll around his Kingdom dutifully as he'd always done as prince, smiling and talking to the commoners. Poor Merlin was unprepared for the King's unscheduled walk, and during work time was caught handing a tiny boy the king's food. Arthur, red in the face took Merlin by the ear and had him thrown into the stocks for the day. It wasn't like Arthur was angry at the fact Merlin had skived from his duties really, nor for handing the child something that could possibly have saved his life. He was angry at the concept of it. It had taken Arthur so long to display such a kindness to his manservant, even the scraps from his plate was a working effort. But nevertheless he gave him food solely for the purpose of aiding his health, such a thing no Master needed to do. He was furious at himself for trusting Merlin to eat it, because when did the boy ever do what he was told?

Afterwards, an exhausted, vegetable smothered Merlin got his second punishment. Merlin was forced for a fortnight to dine with Arthur. To most this would seem a reward, but not to Merlin. A servant's stomach is typically hardy and tough, surviving on little or no food with only stale bread to suffice. It's pretty much steeled for anything other than nice foods. Poor Merlin had to cope with tender chicken breasts, delicious stew; sugar coated skinned fruits, succulent lamb chops, the finest wine and creamed desserts of all sorts. Arthur could always pick what Merlin had, which was the fun of the game, when on the first few days Arthur piled Merlin's plate ruthlessly with the finest, rich food.

It was enough to make anyone sick, and Merlin threw up violently every time he ate a new thing. For skiving Merlin got a few hours extra under the watchful eye of Arthur, who watched as Merlin scrubbed the floors, made the bed, sorted the cupboards, polished the armour, dusted the whole room, did the laundry, mucked the horses out, sharpened Arthur's sword and prepared all of Arthur's meals. It was boring, but fruitful for Arthur as he watched Merlin grow more and more resigned, and more and more exhausted. Towards the ends of both punishments, Merlin haggard and pale got no scraps ever since from Arthur and no relief for his rumbling stomach.

Merlin shivered lightly, trying to supress the memories. Susan took it as Merlin being cold and the next thing you know was complaining about how thin Merlin's clothes were. Luckily Merlin had a good argument for that, saying his neckerchief always kept him warm.

"Ah, but tell me this with such confidence boy," Susan said, slamming a plate of hot broth down. "Did you have breakfast this morning?"

Merlin faltered, biting his lip nervously. It had been a very busy day, and at 5:30am there wasn't much you could do.

Susan sighed tiredly at Merlin's brief hesitation, knowing the answer.

"Why am I not surprised?" She grumbled, pointing at the uneaten broth. "Eat; else I'll go to Arthur again about your lack of appetite." She threatened, placing a cup of water down beside him, sitting down on the table near him. She raised her eyebrows as if to say: _I'm not going anywhere._

Merlin shuddered at the thought of Susan going to Arthur again about this, not wanting to know the results. He gobbled his meal down, not to soothe his forgotten hunger but out of the sheer panic at the thought of being late. Merlin thanked Susan hurriedly rising from his chair, only to be pushed down again.

"Eat this peach also, you look as white as a ghost son," She placed the light haired fruit into Merlin's hands.

Merlin groaned, biting viciously into the sweet flesh of the peach, not even savouring the zesty quality. He held his pip up in victory, the juice of the rich fruit running down his hands.  
>"And the water," Susan reminded him with a smirk. Merlin forced the liquid down his throat, placing his empty cup down feeling surprisingly full.<p>

"I suppose that'll do," Susan grumbled as Merlin drew himself politely from the chair. "But there's always broth if you'd like more?" Susan said hopefully, her remaining yellow teeth curled back into a toothy, enticing smile.

"No thank you." Merlin turned down the seconds gently, grabbing the lukewarm basin of water, departing with vigour.

Susan watched the boy go, shaking her head in awe. "The one thing that boy does have," she muttered to herself, returning to her cooking, "Is manners."

Merlin ignored his aching arms thoroughly, bursting through the corridors that lead into Arthur's chambers. What he didn't expect was to come crashing into Morgana, the basin teetering dangerously. Merlin's body rippled with tension, trying to avert his glare from Morgana. A couple of years ago, if this happened the Ward and servant would've laughed and joked about Merlin's unavoidable clumsiness. They would've teased each other and told each other fleetingly stories of their day. Now the betrayer was nothing but a dead person to Merlin, his Morgana was gone. She was just a shell now, a vulnerable shell filled with evil and schemes. The emeralds of her eyes seemed a monster green now, the face that Merlin once loved was just a puppet now for Morgause to control. Merlin knew she knew and Morgana knew Merlin knew. That she was a cold hearted tyrant, eager to kill her half-brother to get the power she so craved. Merlin remembered the last time he truly saw the true Morgana, when he'd poisoned her at the castle to save so many others… He remembered how he held he there; watching the manipulated twinkle of her eyes slowly fade away as he rocked her gently to what he thought was her death. He remembered her coming back, her using the staff to raise the dead to destroy Camelot.

'_We can find another way.' _Merlin's pleading words burned in his head, remembering the mournful way she looked at him.

'_There is no other way.' Tears leaked down her cheeks, her sword poised for the kill. _That was the death of Morgana for him. Darkness had overcome her to the point of no return.

"Why are you here?" Merlin asked coldly, his dark eyes probing her blank ones. She kept an emotionless mask on, but the hate ran like daggers from her eyes.

"I don't have to explain myself to you, serving boy." She spat back, shoving Merlin aside. Merlin eyed her fearfully and as soon as she departed, Merlin ran. He dropped the basin, his legs already one step ahead of his body. Morgana could've done anything to Arthur and he felt… something. His magic warned him of danger, and prickly sensation crawling through his body. But he ran, every step making a crashing echo roar around the walls. The closer he got to Arthur's chambers, the more he felt it. On the verge of being painful, Merlin burst through the doors.

Arthur was poised at the doorway, presumably on the edge of hunting Merlin like prey himself. As soon as Merlin practically ran through, a knock on the head sent him sprawling. His vision went blurred for a moment, and silence was only for a moment, inky blots surrounding Arthur's murderous face with only the ringing in his head telling Merlin he was still conscious.

Merlin tried to at least stumble on his knees, but a foot on his midsection warned him to stay still. Merlin's eyes sluggishly found Arthur's and he only felt relief in that moment that the king was still with him. "Where the _hell_ have you been Merlin?!" Arthur bellowed, his ocean blue eyes flashing and promising murder. Merlin's tongue was stiff with the near blackness, causing a few stutters and incomprehensible blubbers of apologies.

Arthur suddenly pressed his face up close to Merlin, baring his teeth as a wolf would before ripping the throat out. "So tell me _boy_ what's your sorry excuse now? Did someone steal my basin? Perhaps a dog leapt out at you and had a bath itself?" Arthur jeered, his pupils expanding and dilated, swallowing his blue iris. Merlin struggled then out of fear an explanation dawning on him. This wasn't Arthur. Morgana must've done something… He had to… Save Arthur… But the shadows of unconsciousness were finally gulping down the light, his muscles going unwillingly slack.

Arthur snarled suddenly, the sound raising hairs on Merlin's body. Merlin felt the insistent cold press of steel, pricking his throat slightly. "Don't move," Arthur warned, smirking as his sword slowly fell upon Merlin's chest, tracing his torso almost lovingly, but Merlin knew better. It seemed he was searching as if for a place to… Oh God…

"Arthur… listen… isn't… you," Merlin managed to garble, wanting to say so much more. _Morgana's did something to you Arthur; I need you to come back! She wants this, for me to stop protecting you, for you to become a murderer and wrung with guilt. Merlin screamed inside his head, willing Arthur to hear._

But Arthur seemed immune to his telepathy, finding the perfect point between his ribs, circling round his decided place.

"Please… come back," It suddenly occurred to Merlin these were terrible last words. If anything his last words should be admitting the secret that had decided his fate, that had motivated him to stay with Arthur, who had transformed from a full arsehole to a honourable man who while being still an arse, was selfless and pure at heart… _My friend, _Merlin realised, remembering fleetingly all the times with Arthur. Arthur whacking him with a broom, Arthur shaking with silent laughter at Merlin's outfit, Arthur holding Merlin as the poison coursed through his veins, Arthur ruffling his hair, Arthur comforting him after Freya died, Arthur, Arthur, Arthur…

And the words came tumbling out before he could stop them.  
>"Arthur," he breathed, the words barely ghosting out of his mouth. "I have…"<p>

"Silence traitor," he hissed, the sword plunging into Merlin's abdomen.

At first there was nothing but pain, a burning fire coursing through him, every shake and spasm sending him into another pit of endless agony. He searched for Arthur blindly in the black abyss of pain, yelling his name over and over.

Arthur's eyes held no remorse, no pity. Only hatred for his manservant, as the crimson liquid seeped onto Arthur's shoes. A faint glow rang in triumph, a victory shine from a round piece of jewellery.

Something suddenly released Arthur, the raw rage that kept Arthur in blackness abruptly freed him. Arthur sucked in a breath, at first disoriented and bewildered at the sight at his feet. A raven haired young man with deathly white skin was spread across his lap, the dark blue eyes rolling inside his head without sight. Blood soaked Arthur, a gaping hole through the man's abdomen a sickening gurgling sound the only evidence he was still alive. Then he realised.

The man dying on his lap was Merlin.

**A/N: Hey guys! This is the first chapter of the new and (hopefully) improved Loyal Blood. Leave a like if you enjoyed, and reviews just make me choke with happiness. Remember, a review either good or bad will help me improve my writing, so don't be afraid to say the mistakes I've made. I'm not the best at grammar, and I'm thinking of getting a Beta-Reader when** **I continue this. I'll update ASAP, and I'll see you then. I was going to update this at Christmas, but being Christmas, I was very busy. But I was determined to upload this before New Year, just so it could fit the timeline. I'm so excited for 2015 and to show you guys just how far I intend to go with this. Thank you for joining me throughout 2014 and as always thanks for reading my muffins. (Yes I just called you my Muffins, don't hate) Bye! :D **


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